The Case of A Sneezing Wyvern
by Xanedis
Summary: From the writer of Ev*CENSURE*. Let's try that again: an interesting outlook on the Shepherd relationships through the eyes of two women investigating a crime in the Ylissean war camp. Meet Morgan and Severa, who ruminate on the last night during which the wyvern stables caught on fire. Motives are revealed and reasons unveiled as their investigation continues. NOT MORGANXSEVERA!
1. Chapter 1

**The Case of A Sneezing Wyvern**

_**Chapter 1: Spellbooks Plus Wyverns Equates To Fire**_

Grey sky overshadowed the morning in the Ylissean war camp.

As Morgan and Severa sat on the flour sacks near the storage tents, they saw soldiers hurrying back and forth, receiving and fulfilling orders that had something to do with last night's chaos. Morgan remembered waking up barely after midnight, scrambling out from her tent in fear of a sudden ambush and finding the wyvern stable in flames. The fire had quickly spread to other nearby tents, but it was quickly doused through the coordinated efforts of Robin and the Shepherds.

Still, it had left behind a mess. And when Morgan had questioned Cherche during last night, out of curiosity, the woman said that Minerva had not been sick. That left out only one option; there was someone in the camp that had caused the last night's chaos.

"Say, Severa," Morgan said, "do you know the trick of making a wyvern sneeze?"

"Please, ask me something more challenging next time," Severa answered from above. She was sitting on four stacked flour-sacks and her long legs barely touched the ground. Morgan knew better than to mention her need to compensate.

"It's the spells and spell books; they are allergic to that stuff. And that's also why mages don't ride wyverns, ever," Severa continued.

"So you knew, huh." Morgan was a little disappointed. She had thought her father let her on a secret, when he had shared the fact during one of their late-night study sessions. But now it seemed like everybody knew the trick. That frustrated Morgan. She would have wanted to be somewhat special, to have secret knowledge that no one else would have been privy on. On that note, Morgan noticed how Severa's complex might have been rubbing off on her.

Chill morning wind hummed as Morgan pondered what actions she should take. Her grandfather had been the first person to the scene. That was as good of a start as any. The crime-scene investigations would come immediately afterwards.

Morgan hopped up from her flour sack and Severa lazily followed suit.

"…What are you up to?" the swordswoman asked, tilting her head dangerously to the right. Morgan sometimes wondered whether that was the way Severa checked if a person was lying.

"Nothing," the young tactician answered, but her determined grin told another story.

"Suuure. So, whose apple-tree is it?"

"Is that a saying? I'm afraid the meaning is lost to me," Morgan admitted, taking her first step towards the place where she suspected Chrom would be.

"My father's, actually," Severa said, straightening her back ever so slightly. "The meaning goes along the lines of 'who's the target'."

"How apt," Morgan said, her eyes turning towards the small puffs of grey that still rose from the blackened ruins of the stable. The smoke had become almost transparent, appearing almost ethereal. But there was still darkness in the deed done.

"The one behind the last night's chaos is the target, and we will be the ones to catch him," the young tactician declared. The weight behind those words bound Morgan as if she had sworn an oath.

* * *

"Absolutely not."

The answer of the crown prince was to the point and curt. Chrom's eyes beheld the shorter person, and there was not much compassion to be found in those deep blue pools of resolve.

_Temporary,_ Morgan surmised, and it was very likely to be true. Chrom wasn't void of emotions, least of all those caring and fatherly, but he was still a leader. As such, it was his duty to stay strong in face of adversity. Encountered with such determination, it would have been difficult for Morgan to receive Chrom's permission for conducting her investigation. The young tactician decided to change her approach.

"Fine," Morgan said, pursing her lips together and casting her eyes down. After twenty-some seconds of fake disappointment, she heard a sigh from above. Morgan turned her eyes upwards and met Chrom's frowning face; the crown prince's fingers were massaging his brows and eyelids.

"…I will only give you the facts. You are not allowed to investigate this matter, there is danger involved. And if you _do_ figure something out while contemplating on it, come straight to me. Understood?" Chrom asked. His tall body stood so straight that he appeared almost threatening. It was reasonable to think there would be repercussions for disobedience.

"Absolutely," Morgan answered immediately. _And I'll apologize for lying to you later, grandfather, _she promised in her mind. _When it's less boring in the camp._

Chrom's eyes kept to Morgan for an indeterminable amount of time. Then they flicked to the swordswoman standing a few feet back. She was frowning. "Same applies to you, Severa. And try to keep Morgan in line, she gets too enthusiastic," Chrom said.

Morgan growled playfully at him, and Chrom patted her head, still keeping his eyes fixed on the swordswoman. Severa managed to nod, albeit with great difficulty, and Morgan felt pity for her friend who probably felt antagonized by Chrom, even though she had no need to. _Don't hate him, Sev_, she thought._ There are no guilty parties in 'that' affair._

"Right, information," Chrom said, turning to face Morgan again. The young tactician felt her heart jump slightly at the expectation of useful tidbits. "Let's see. It was around midnight, not even ten minutes after, I think. I was walking around when…"

"Why _were _you walking around at midnight?" Severa asked suddenly, her voice a tinge too hostile for Morgan's tastes. Regardless, Severa's point was absolutely valid.

"Yes, why were you up so late?" Morgan asked, keeping her appearance soft as she ruminated upon the suspicious spot in her grandfather's testimony. Was he hiding something that couldn't survive the daylight?

Chrom coughed into his hand. "That's really not your business, Morgan."

_And you are being too defensive, _Morgan thought. She considered it unfortunate that there was no information to base any conclusive deductions on, but regardless gestured her grandfather to continue his testimony. The crown prince did so without further ado, and Morgan noticed how the frowns would disappear from Chrom's face immediately after she stopped asking about the reasons behind his night-time wanderings. _Suspicious._

"As I was saying, I was walking around the camp moments after midnight. That's when I saw a dark shape near the stables, suspiciously hiding behind one of its corners."

"A… shape? A person, perhaps?" Morgan mused aloud.

Chrom nodded. "Too tall to be one of our manaketes, and he used a sword, so he wasn't a taguel. A human through and through."

"This raises a question..." Morgan said, lifting her index finger up.

Chrom exhaled slowly. "...Not again. Can't you just take the facts and juggle with them for the rest of the day?" The voice of the crown prince lacked energy, as if he had given up trying to win an argument.

"This is a good question, though," Morgan claimed. "And actually, make that two. First off, how did you know that person was a man, yet still could not tell who he was?"

"To this moment, I am still not absolutely sure whether he was a man. I just dislike calling a person 'it'," Chrom said. After that, the crown prince quickly muttered something under his breath, but Morgan could only hear the words 'beast' and 'Gangrel'. Then Chrom blinked his eyes, and resumed to his exposition. "Now that I think about it, his body-build was leaning slightly to the male side of things."

"Slightly?" Morgan asked, glancing at Severa who was standing close to her, stiffer than ever.

"… I swear, if Robin taught you that parrot act he used to play on me…" The crown prince's voice drowned into mumbles, but something dark kept flashing in his blue eyes.

"My question was not an _act_," Morgan said, prodding Chrom's chest with her index finger. "It was a request for clarification; what traits made that person seem like a male?"

Chrom rubbed his beardless chin for a minute. When he opened his mouth again, Morgan found no doubt in his voice. "He was somewhat lean, and didn't have a lot of visible muscle-mass, but that person had an almost certifiable presence of a man, or so my instincts said."

Morgan exhaled. Intuition was hardly a thing she trusted in. She was a daughter of a tactician after all, logical and collected. Gut feelings and premonitions held no value to her. Morgan did avoid mentioning that to her precious grandfather though, and instead moved on with her questioning.

"The second question is the more relevant one of the two," she stated. "You said that person used a sword. Now, given that there was darkness, how could you make out its shape? Or was there something else? Something like… a fight between you two?"

"No." Chrom's answer cut Morgan's suspicions down immediately. "And had you simply let me tell you what happened, you would already know what transpired during that night."

The crown prince drew in a sharp breath, exhaling slowly afterwards. Morgan began to wonder whether her grandfather was at the edge of his own patience. She started to feel bad for putting her own curiosity above Chrom's well-being. The crown prince's eyes fluttered even as Morgan watched him. Her father's eyes had always done the same after his all-nighters.

Chrom turned towards the stables and continued to share his experience from the last night. "Something flew from his direction and thumped into the stables. I could not discern the object, but Robin said that it might have been a spell book. That would certainly explain Minerva's reaction last night. In any case, the culprit drew his sword out, and in one swift movement cut in half one of the stable's supports. Then he ran, and the roof collapsed down behind him. Minerva sneezed immediately after, breathing fire, and you know the rest."

Turning to her right, the young tactician met Severa's eyes and received an almost unperceivable nod. That would support Morgan's own theory about Minerva's sneezing spree.

"That's all I have for you, Morgan," her grandfather continued. "Now, kindly let me resume my duties, I can hardly concentrate with you two crowding around me like puppies." Chrom's words almost fell down to the ground, having suddenly become heavy and burdensome.

"Right. We'll let you resume your investigations," Morgan said, then remembering to add something for the sake of the courtesy. "Thank you."

She turned around and was just about to walk away with Severa when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Morgan turned to once more face her grandfather's blue eyes, and this time, they pierced deep into her soul.

"_Even if you don't want to obey my order to not investigate this matter, do it anyway. There's something strange afoot, and I do not want you to get tangled into it,"_ Chrom whispered.

Morgan felt an involuntary shudder shake her body, traversing to her right shoulder where Chrom held his hand. He would know for sure now, regardless of whether his words had been a bluff in the first place. Morgan felt a short wave of nausea rise and then assert itself again. At her side, Severa stood still like a statue, her hand on one of the hidden daggers inside her jacket. Probably an unconscious gesture, but one very unsafe around the crown prince of Ylisse.

Regardless, that was one of Morgan's smaller worries. She could only nod back to her grandfather, before carefully slipping away from his hold and walking towards someplace other than here. Even without looking, Morgan knew that Chrom's knowing eyes were pointed at the back of her head.

She knew that there was no way they could investigate the crime-scene now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Off-topic/Author's Notes/All the other babbling:**

**Alright, news. First of all, I know I promised to have EB's(Everlasting Bonds') newest chapter up about now, but two things came up... First off, my writing had gotten really rusty, and secondly, I wasn't done with the planning, so I couldn't write that chapter before this one. Still, I need to apologize for not making good on my word. I'm sorry.**

**On a happier note, I'll try to begin writing EB's next chapter tomorrow. Until then, I really hope you guys will read and enjoy this update.**

**ALSO! If you want to know my present status, it is (almost) always available at my profile page. I usually update my daily progress there, because it is the most effective way to keep me writing.**

**Right. Enjoy.**

**EDIT: This story doesn't happen in Everlasting Bonds's timeline/universe/continuity. Just so you know.**

* * *

**The Case of A Sneezing Wyvern**

**_Chapter 2: Sneaking Like Rhinos_**

Severa and Morgan were off to a bad start with their investigation.

Chrom had forbidden them the access to the wyvern stables, leaving a few threats hanging – Severa held on to this opinion, even if Morgan didn't seem to accept Chrom's words as such – and sending them then off to wherever it was that Morgan would wander to next.

It was an almost perfect day, in the most sarcastic sense possible. The only thing that was lacking was Noire chasing Inigo in the midst of army's leathery tents, and…

A tall figure appeared from the midst of brown canvas and worn ropes, almost tripping over a cord as he ran. He twisted his heels to turn rapidly and jumped, shifting through the air, and barely avoided landing face first to the dirt. His shoulder hit the ground hard, and he tumbled, arms helplessly underneath as he rolled a considerable distance. Still, it didn't surprise Severa to see Inigo immediately jump up as if nothing had happened and dash through the open area to his right.

Turning right again like a bunny beset by a cruel hunter, Inigo's arm hit one of the tent poles, bouncing off like an irritated wasp as the man let out a venomous gasp. After rounding the corner, his legs suddenly stopped and though she couldn't see his face, Severa suspected it had been hit by the whitish frost of true horror. Indeed, the man spun around and dashed for the opposite direction almost immediately after his short episode.

Very soon, a blonde woman appeared from the direction Inigo had run away from, wielding a wicked long bow that seemed to surpass her arms in terms of thickness.

…_A perfect day indeed_, Severa thought. She watched Noire, the blond woman, fire off a few arrows after Inigo and then dash after him as if this whole thing between them were a grand game of cat and mouse, only with lethal ammunition. After Severa was absolutely sure that the two were gone, she sighed, and marched past the scene of spectacle. She soon reached the young tactician who continuously rubbed her forehead in a maddening fashion.

"Got anything?" Severa asked.

Morgan turned, fingers still to the forehead, and she glimpsed at Severa. "No," the girl said. "The facts that grandfather laid are too thin. Knowing that the suspect doesn't have an overly muscular build doesn't _really_ help and besides, anyone could pick up a spell book from the storage tent, provided she has a reason and could account it to Cordelia. That means we cannot automatically suspect our army's magicians, and _then_ there's that sword business…" Morgan's voice trailed off into what seemed to be a silence-in-the-making.

Still, Severa broke it easily enough. "Cutting a stable support with a single strike? Fishy." She flexed her fingers, now that the trek had come to a stop, and then leaned downwards, stretching towards her toes. After all, whatever kind of mental arithmetic life threw her way, Severa could always return to what she did the best; staying fit.

It also had the nice side-effect of keeping her mind sharp as well. "Suppose the suspect had an extraordinary sword?" Severa mused aloud, hoping that Morgan would catch on to the idea.

She did, exclaiming, "Like Falchion!" Then her expression soured. "...I think I might actually dislike that line of thought."

"Why?"

"Well, you have something of a beef with grandfather, right, Sev?" Morgan asked. "It's that business with your mother, I think. How she isn't quite willing to forget-"

"Alright, alright!" Severa cut in, her palms slicing air as she crossed them before her face and then sent them to either side. "I get what you were going for. And no. I'm not out for Chrom's blood."

Morgan pursed her lips so tight they almost hit her sharp little nose, at the same time lowering her eyebrows, imitating the face of a certain overly distrustful merchant.

Severa huffed. "Fine. Don't believe me then."

Morgan's superbly skeptical face kept its form for a short while, and then softened back into her normal pair of curious eyes, a pointy nose and a slightly amused mouth. "Oh, but I do trust you," she said. "I just needed to check your motives before we continue."

Severa looked around, seeing nothing but rope and brown leather all the way to the horizon. "Continue where?" she asked.

"To where my mother is," Morgan said, walking backwards. She was smiling, and one of her fingers danced to a tune that no doubt existed only within her mind.

The girl was having fun, and that rattled Severa more than any premonition could.

* * *

Logic dictated that their first destination should be Lucina's tent and so Severa and Morgan started towards it, weaving past groups of grumbling, laughing, and sometimes in the case of Feroxi, occasionally brawling soldiers. As this leg of their journey was rather lively in terms of other activities, the two didn't gather much unwarranted attention.

They were rather close to Lucina's tent when Severa saw the woman a dozen feet to the right, walking away from where her tent was supposed to be. She was dressed in Ylisse's blues and whites and, very curiously, had left her circlet home. Because of that, her hair ran long and free across her shoulders, giving way before the soft breeze that caressed the sea of brown canvas.

After a rapid moment of contemplation, Severa grabbed Morgan's shoulder and pulled her behind one of the tents next to them.

"Hey, what gives?" Morgan complained. She frowned and jerked away the shoulder Severa had yanked, flexing it. Her eyes fixed Severa with the cutest kind of a horrifying glare, one that would definitely fell a small insect.

Severa peered out before quietly muttering her answer. "Lucina is out there." Her eyes beseeched for Morgan's silence, or at least that she would lower her voice.

Apparently it didn't quite work, as Morgan's face turned tempestuous, her brows like storm clouds. "So why are we _here_, instead of _there_?" she asked, bitter tones to her voice.

The flame-haired woman sighed. Morgan was definitely trying to guilt-trip her. She cocked her head towards where she had seen Lucina, implying that Morgan should share onto what she'd seen. However, as Morgan bopped her whole head past the brown obstruction, Severa had to hiss a command. "Don't let her see you!"

Morgan stood still for a moment, and Severa made a curious observation; her friend could be sneaky if she needed to be. The woman continued apprising her friend's skulking mannerisms until Morgan turned back, her right eye closed and right lip creased upwards. She clearly had a talent for faces.

"She's… antsy?"

"And going somewhere," Severa said, adding to Morgan's conclusion.

The purple-haired girl smirked. "Now we are getting somewhere," Morgan commented, and her friend quickly grimaced.

"You just had to make a horrible pun out of it, didn't you?" Severa asked, though she didn't really want to know the answer. She peered over once more, looking for Lucina, and found the princess a bit further ahead, taking a turn out of sight and further into the labyrinthine maze of tents and people.

Severa contemplated again, and turned back, nodding briskly towards Lucina's position. Morgan's nod was slower, understanding what was requested of her.

They would now commence the stalking, and woe betide anyone who got himself in their way.

* * *

_Well, that's a twist and a half_, Severa thought, watching as Lucina slipped into the comfortable-looking tent before them. Its color was the same boring brown that the other people's tents were, but it was also clearly larger, probably meant to accommodate three or more persons in addition to their various furniture pieces.

The area around was void of activity. The only noises came from a distance and, upon reaching where Severa stood, became quite indistinct. She knew that Chrom had ordered the soldiers to give the tactician a good working space, and it showed; there were no people present - or if there were, they hid in the surrounding tents, wisely quiet. It wouldn't have been funny if one of the sergeants found them skipping on their daily drills.

Morgan, who had become rather giddy upon realizing what was up with her mother's suspicious behavior, snuck to the tent's side and found a pair of rainwater barrels behind which to hide. After settling down near them, she gestured her friend to follow.

Severa put her hands forward and around an imaginary throat, squeezing it hard. Morgan cocked her head sideways, supposedly not gathering the meaning of Severa's gesture. _Or maybe she's trying to fool me into thinking so, _Severa thought, planting her feet firmly to the ground, refusing to advance any further.

Morgan frowned, displeasure marring her face. Apparently this was supposed to be some kind of a surprise highlight in her day, and Severa was ruining it. Not that the woman cared. There was enough awkwardness in her family's relations without butting into Morgan's family business as well.

The disappointed little tactician's hands went to her chin and she caressed its tip a few times, much like her father was in the habit of. After doing so for a decisive period of time, her pouting faded and was replaced with a devious grin. She pointed at herself, then cupped her hands around mouth and pointed the self-crafted bassoon towards her father's tent. She glanced sideways, to Severa, and her eyebrows formed a question.

_You wouldn't dare! _Severa shouted mentally. Her friend was threatening to frame her guilty of disturbing the area's peace.

Normally, it wouldn't have been an issue for Severa. She knew she was something of a delinquent, always ready to speak her piece and verbally hammer someone down. However…

It was the crown prince's orders that had decreed this area a no-disturbance zone. And Chrom's army had strict regulations to accommodate the fact that there were people from so many backgrounds and ways of life. Sometimes the whip of discipline even struck the Shepherds. Morgan's prank would certainly give Chrom an excuse to figuratively brandish the rod, and the idea of getting caught in its wake bemused Severa.

She quickly snuck to the barrels and gave Morgan a fiery glare, promising to unleash her rage later on. Her friend grinned noiselessly and then raised her right palm. _No speaking, _it implied, and Severa obliged. She wasn't planning on getting caught.

There were two distinct voices conversing inside the tent; a low, deliberate one, and another, distinctly feminine and familiar. _The tactician and Lucina, then, _Severa quickly decided. She had heard Robin talk a few times, sometimes even address her directly. Mostly in a request to keep his daughter in line.

_I don't think this was what he had in mind when he said that, _Severa thought.

The owner of the deep, deliberate voice spoke. "We did not agree on meeting today." Though the voice was even, it sounded somewhat... nervous? That's how Severa would have put it.

"I know that…" Lucina answered, her voice unusually soft, gentle even. "It is just that with the recent happenings in the camp, I thought I would find you here. Alone."

Slowly, with each passing sentence, a new wave of flush washed over Morgan's cheeks, their contrast against the dull barrels clear in the grey daylight. Severa couldn't help but think their actions were a rather far shot from 'investigating' the crime in the camp. In fact, she doubted Morgan remembered the first order of their business at all.

Oblivious to Severa's thoughts, Morgan began rubbing her nose in a vain attempt to hide her expressions. Severa swallowed an incoming huff and pricked her ears to hear over the suspicious silence in the tent. Then footsteps sounded from where Robin had spoken from, stopping after a very brief period, having reached a position closer to Lucina's.

"You know…" the tactician said softly, "Your father will think I'll have a bad influence on you. I mean, you came here when the rest of the camp is a mess. That's... slightly questionable, wouldn't you say."

There was a rueful sigh so deep it made Severa want to scream, after which she heard a very thin _*thump*_ as somebody was drawn into an embrace in a gentle and loving fashion. Then the tactician whispered in an even softer voice, "But myself… I don't mind." And that was apparently all he meant to imply in words.

As the voices in the tent shifted from quiet whispering to determinedly passionate kissing, Severa turned towards her friend and gestured a clear, gory cut across her own throat. _Out, now!_ she mouthed, yet Morgan, future product of the union of the two people now locked in embrace inside the tent, looked at Severa and then towards the tent, her facial expression somewhat mesmerized and cheeks burning with an embarrassed fire. She took a deep, perhaps not so silent breath through her nose and then quickly moved her finger again to stop-

_*tsih*_

The tent before them went silent, the previously frolicking passions falling down dead in the chill anticipation of what was to come. Severa practically murdered Morgan with eyes that blazed hatred and spite. A pair of legs walked to the edge of the tent, brisk, perhaps somewhat angry. Then a voice called from behind the tent fabric. "Morgan," the gravely serious voice said. "Kindly leave. Now. And make some noise when you do. I want to hear you go." It spoke like a hammer to a nail.

Morgan and Severa looked at each other, and the girl lifted her hands to either side in resign. She shook her head, giving in to the demands. "Fine. We'll go. Sorry."

Something tapped the floor of the tent twice, indicating urgency. Severa and Morgan rose from behind the barrels, hastily moving further away from the tent while kicking ground, pebbles and an occasional grass tuft. They only stopped at a decent distance, turning to look once more towards the tent. It seemed peaceful and innocent, clearly not like something indecent were about to happen inside.

Having gazed to her fill, Severa turned to scowl at Morgan. Their staring match lasted for about a second, after which Morgan couldn't anymore face Severa's horrifying face of doom and turned away.

"At least it was kind of fun…?" she suggested. Her voice was full of disturbing hopefulness that puppies so often displayed, hopeful for pitiful morsels.

"Quite," Severa growled poisonously. "And I think I was supposed to rip your heart out one of these days. As in, _right now_." She straightened herself and assumed a menacing position, slumbering towards Morgan one step at a time, like a fell beast from the worst nightmares. Morgan grimaced, her eyes shifting somewhere past Severa. Even the monster act didn't seem to invite their focus, so Severa gave up trying to threaten her friend and instead turned around, trying to find that which Morgan's eyes beheld.

Some distance away, not out of earshot, there was a figure approaching the tactician's tent. Clad in distinctive whites and blues, the man signified Ylisse itself, though his slumped shoulders suggested he wasn't fine with the burden. He stopped at the tent flap, looking left and right before putting it aside.

Silence of the most sharp kind followed. Even back at where Severa and Morgan stood watching, the mood was so thick one could have cut her fingers on it.

Then voices erupted from within the tent in an unholy cacophony, smiting Severa's ears with their might. The most clear was Chrom's furious howl, crossing the entire yard and flooding over the rows of tents. **_"Why is our army's tactician swimming up my daughter's blouse?!"_**


End file.
